


The Incredible Floating Aunt

by Azors_Elocutors



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azors_Elocutors/pseuds/Azors_Elocutors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tying up some loose ends in the story, this little tale explores what happened after Harry slammed the door shut on the Dursleys in his third year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Incredible Floating Aunt

The door slammed shut right in front of Mr Dursley’s fuming face. He was only barely aware that his unwanted nephew had left the house – perhaps for good. In the tiny reasoning section of his brain he thought good riddance to bad rubbish; but as quickly as Harry had shut the door his brutish mind turned back to the wails coming from the dining room.

“Marge!” Mr Dursley breathed. As quickly as he could he spun around and hurried back into the chaos.

The dining room was trashed: the table had been knocked over, cake and brandy mingling on carpet; Dudley cowering in a corner, Petunia screaming, and Ripper snapping at the heels of the balloon-like Aunt Marge. Looking upon all of this Mr Dursley froze, unable to find any way to help. Aunt Marge bobbed off the ceiling like a grotesque blimp, her face stretched and unrecognizable. Mr Dursley thought vaguely of tying her up – but to help whom? 

As immediately as that thought entered his mind, there was a very loud crack; Mr Dursley spun around, looking for the source of the noise – and to his frustration and shock saw two figures in deep blue robes standing in the hallway. Their robes were trimmed in white and on both of their breast-pockets a starry ‘M’ was emblazoned.

“Who the ruddy hell are you?” snarled Mr Dursley.

“Mr Dursley, my name is Withiel and this is my colleague Miller-” The black man beside Withiel nodded in acknowledgement. “We’ve received word of an accidental use of an Inflating Charm on a Muggle in this household-“

“Accidental? _Accidental?!_ This- this was no accident! My nephew did it!” Mr Dursley burst out.

“Your nephew? Who might that be?” asked Miller.

“Harry Potter! (The two wizards started in surprise) And now he’s gone and run off! Good for him! I hope he-”

“Mr Dursley,” Withiel interrupted, “Do you have any knowledge of where Mr Potter has gone?”

“No! And I don’t care, either! He can go get run over by a bus for all I care! Ever since he’s come into this house it’s been the pits! First it was those damn letters, then it was that bloody hovering cake, and now-”

The two wizards looked at each other while Mr Dursley continued his rant. “The Minister will want to know about this. Send word to headquarters.” Withiel whispered to Miller. Miller nodded and turned around, drawing his wand – waving it in a fluid motion a great, silvery-white falcon erupted from the wand-tip. It flew down the length of the hallway and disappeared through the door. 

“And now he’s gone and blown Marge up, she was right, we should have sent him straight to the orphanage-” 

“Mr Dursley, our time here is short,” Withiel gently interrupted. “Would you mind showing us inside?”

Without another word Mr Dursley turned around and stormed into the dining room, followed by the two wizards.

Petunia screamed even louder as the wizards entered the room. Mr Dursley ran over to her just in case she fainted; Dudley gave a little cry at the sight of more wizards and wrapped his hands around his bottom even more tightly. Ripper, upon seeing the two men in robes, turned and charged at them – but Miller raised his wand and the bulldog stopped, barked in delight, and wagged its tail as the two approached.

Miller bent down to pet Ripper as Withiel surveyed the scene before them. It was a very simple case – one Deflating Charm would do the trick. Without hesitation Withiel drew and raised his wand, pointing it at the bobbing Marge.

There was a soft whistling sound like air escaping out of a balloon. Mr Dursley watched as Marge shrunk and shrunk – all while retaining her figure. He turned to look at the two wizards – the pale one, Withiel, had his wand concentrated on the shrinking balloon of an aunt, while the black man, Miller, controlled Marge’s descent into her chair.   
In a matter of seconds it was over – Marge lay groggily in her chair, and Ripper ran straight towards her, wagging his tail. Marge absent-mindedly extended a hand to pet him, but the hand fell limp as the aunt sunk into unconsciousness.

“Marge!” Mr Dursley exclaimed. He rounded on the two wizards, who kept their wands up, still pointing at the unconscious figure. “You devils, you, what have you done to her?”   
“She is merely asleep, Mr Dursley,” Withiel soothed in his quiet, but firm voice. “We will soon depart; but first we must modify her memory in accordance with our codes-”  
“Modify her memory? I won’t have you bastards messing with my sister’s brain-“

“Please try to relax, Mr Dursley. The procedure will only take a minute.” Withiel turned to Miller. “Alright, Miller, do it now.”

Miller stepped forward; wand still pointed at Aunt Marge, and cried, “Obliviate!” A weird rushing wind filled the room as the Obliviator’s spell did its work; but in another second the black wizard was already stowing his wand away into his robes.

“Thank you for your patience, Mr and Mrs Dursley,” Withiel said. “As a reward, please, do allow us to tidy this mess up. I’m sure it would save you quite a bit of time.”

Mr Dursley, unwilling to give the strangers their due, merely nodded. Withiel turned back to the mess. With a long sweep of his wand the table righted itself; the cakes reassembled themselves to their former condition; the brandy was siphoned back into the bottle; the chairs were arranged in their orderly pattern. Glass shards flew back into their frames and repaired themselves.

Without another word Withiel and Miller walked out of the room, and Mr Dursley heard again another loud crack – he ran towards the hallway, but too late. The wizards had disappeared.

A long groan could be heard from the dining room. Mr Dursley turned around to see Marge stirring in her chair; Ripper’s barks had awakened her. Petunia had recovered already: she was already arranging the plates in her preferred manner, fussing about something or other. Dudley took a little longer, standing up with difficulty.

“Vernon?” Marge had finally awakened. “Vernon, what was all that about? Where’s that nasty little brat?”

“Upstairs, Marge,” Mr Dursley shakily replied. He hoped to God Marge wouldn’t notice his sweating; but like all inquisitive sisters she had already noticed.

“Why do you sweat so much, Vernon? Goodness me, you look like you’ve ran a mile!” Marge wagged a pudgy finger at him, smiling indulgently. “When have you ever run a mile?”

“Must be the heat, Marge, you know. It does get awfully stuffy in here.” 

“Hmmm.” Mr Dursley could see that she was unconvinced. Marge took one look at her watch and gave a cry. “Goodness! I didn’t realise it was this late! I’ve got to sing Ripper his bedtime song, poor thing, he can’t sleep without it.” Marge rose, taking the bulldog into her arms. “I’m off to bed. Good night, Vernon!” She trundled off into the hallway.

“Vernon…” Mrs Dursley ventured, wary of Mr Dursley’s mood. “Do you think it worked?”

Mr Dursley grunted. “Well, it looks like it did. Damn that boy....” he cursed. “I’m feeling a bit tired, Petunia; I think I’ll go to bed too. Come on, Dudley!” The two of them, father and son, trooped upstairs, their weary footfalls shaking the dust from the ceiling.


End file.
